


The Forgotten List

by klassmartin



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:03:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/pseuds/klassmartin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the argument at the prison, Benji encourages Jesse to figure out his feelings by writing a list of pros and cons. Twelve years later, Beca finds it hidden away in the attic and demands answers. [Fluffy twoshot.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pro List

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you tear yourself away from the pitch perfect tumblr tag and stumble upon a gifset of Ross's list about Rachel from Friends. Hope you all enjoy this and big thanks to Star-crossed92 (on FF) for her awesome messages and for reblogging the aforementioned gifset that inspired this. She's really lovely, go check her out and send her hugs. Or creepy messages. Either one would be amusing. Please review and let me all know what you thought!

**THE PRO LIST**

"Honey, I'm home!"

I don't need to see her to know she's rolling her eyes – not just because I say it every time I come home on a Friday and she always reacts that way, but because I know her well enough. She always has a witty retort, but she can't help but laugh when I grin at her. She insists her incapability to keep a straight face around me is because I'm funny looking, but I know it's because I've worn her down.

I throw my coat over the rack in the hallway, walking through to the living room to find her. The house is cold and silent, and I frown. There's a forgotten half finished mug on the table beside the sofa. As I search the house, I see traces of her, the little things like the forever unmade bed and the left on lights and her large computer screen glowing in the spare bedroom turned music studio. Her dirty socks are balled up in the hallway. But she doesn't seem to be anywhere. I lean over the hallway bannister, calling her name down the banister, worry creasing my forehead.

"Beca?"

"Here," she calls, and I can hear the distraction in her voice. Actually walking into the music studio, I see that the ladder for the attic is pulled down – the source of the cold – and scattered around it are photos, old photos. Like, Barden old. I feel my worry spike.

"What you up to?" I ask as I climb up, turning my head to look for her. I see her hand appear above a stack of old cardboard boxes that hide the rest of her and I frown; why is she over there? That's the corner we never touch. It's the boxes that remained unpacked when we moved into our house four years ago, the stuff we keep because we can't seem to gather the heart to throw it out.

As I walk towards her, I see the trail of destruction she has left in her wake. Old papers and dust sheets litter the pink fluffy handcuffs that her friends got her for her bachelorette party dangle out of a small crumbling box. She's rooted around in the Christmas decorations, bits of tinsel sparkling on the floor. The memory boxes full of our old photos and trinkets are virtually empty and I presume is where the discarded photos below are from. I catch sight of a photo from the last big group get-together of our Barden life, everyone trying to squeeze in and most laughing at Amy who stands in the middle, pulling some ridiculous pose.

When I realise she still hasn't answered me, I try again. "Are we having a yard sale? Because I don't think this stuff is really worth anything…" I gingerly finger the faded fabric of some forgotten shirt that does not belong anywhere but hidden in this loft or burning in a fire.

She pokes her head out from behind the boxes, on her hands and knees as she looks up at me with an unreadable expression. She has changed a lot since the picture on the floor – it has, of course, been eight years since it was taken – with her eyes no longer heavily outlined, her hair longer and pulled back into a braid down her back, her ear spike gone, her eyes a little older and a little wiser. She's still just as beautiful though, and I feel the same breathless joy when I see her that I have experienced since I was eighteen years old.

She does not seem so delighted to see me.

"Jesse," she begins in a disapproving tone. I crouch down in front of her on my knees and kiss her softly on her forehead in greeting. She makes no move to return the sentiment, sitting back so her legs are crossed beneath her.

" I'm sorry." I go with that, because I have no idea what I've done but it seems a safe bet to assume I've done something, judging by her narrowed eyes and thin lips.

I don't notice the sheet of paper in her hand until she thrusts it at me, an eyebrow raised. I make no move to take it, still trying to gauge from her expression how much trouble I am in, and she glances at it, shaking it at me to emphasise what she wants. I take it from her cautiously, safe in the knowledge there aren't enough pages for it to be divorce papers.

"You have to look at it to know what it is." Her hands are back in her lap and she keeps her face neutral. The only way I am going to know what is going on is by reading the paper. I swallow down my nerves because she's scaring me, watching me like that, and turn my attention to the page.

"Oh." I recognise it instantly. "Oh no..."

"Oh yes."

"I still have this?" I'm amazed and half way through breaking into a grin when I see her expression and it falls again. "I can explain," I add quickly. Her lips scrunch up in that adorable way that I have always loved and she looks at my expectantly, waiting for me to continue.

I can't explain.

I have no idea how to explain this.

She wasn't supposed to even find out about this. Ever.

"How'd you find it?"

She clasps her hands together and I know she's not going to say anything until I start talking, so I instead glance back down at the old piece of paper, the slightly faded ink still displaying the title clear as day.

_ The Pro List _

Time to sink or swim, Jesse.

"I made a list. A long time ago. About you." I cough self-consciously and she nods.

"I gathered that. But I don't understand it. Why do you have a list of my 'positive' traits?" She air quotes and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself smiling at how cute she looks in this moment, her eyes wide and full of misunderstanding, wisps of hair falling around her face. The amount of I love have for this woman after all this time terrifies and thrills me at the same time.

"I wrote it with Benji in college. After you got arrested." I don't add the 'for the first time' on the end of my sentence because I know she hates it when I bring her criminal record up.

"Why?" She looks confused and her eyes rise to the ceiling as she makes an effort to remember the significance. It dawns on her and her face falls, but she simply nods for me to continue.

I shift uncomfortably. After being together for eleven years, looking back at our beginning was… Weird. Yeah we joked about it sometimes, but we had come a long way. Reminiscing on the not-so-great memories of our first six months in college seems, well, not exactly progressive.

Especially for nights like the one this was written during.

"Beca, do you really want to go back to this?"

She nods quickly, apparently very convinced in her decision to pursue this. "Absolutely. I want to know why you wrote it. Why you chose those things."

Her eyes are softer, forgiving, and I can see, now, why she wants to know. Beca doesn't understand the things I chose. She wants to know why I chose them.

She wants to know why I chose her.

So I shuffle across the dusty floor until I am next to her, leaning back on a sturdy looking box and letting her rest against my side. I put my arm around her and can't help the quickening heart rate – she's incredible and she's here with me. Holding this list in my hand makes me realise just how far we have come. How we have beaten all the odds, worked through all the problems, pushed ourselves to make it work. Because twelve years ago I was writing a love sick list on why I wanted her, and well over a decade later, here I am with her in my arms; my wife; my best friend; my everything.

"Number one," she reads to me. " _The way she looks when the mix is just right._ "

I grin and rest my cheek against the crown of her head.

"That's an easy one. It's something I still love about you to this day, the way you light up and look so disbelieving over what you have created and how amazing it is. I will never forget the first time I saw that look, at the first Riff Off when you rapped Blackstreet." I feel her chuckle against my shoulder. "Seriously, that was so hot."

"I was horrific at it." She scoffs, but I would bet anything that she's blushing.

"All the same."

She laughs again and begins to play with the fingers on the hand I have holding her close, our fingers lacing together lazily. It's a subconscious habit she's picked up over the years, and she only does it when she's comfortable and relaxed, so I take it as a good sign. Seriously, the way she does it without even realising would be on this list if I wrote it now.

"Number two." She stifles a yawn and then continues on with her reading. " _The way she struggles more and more with hiding that smile from me._ "

This was another easy one, but I have no idea how I can explain it. It's difficult to put into words, how that developing smile kept me going all those years ago. But I try, because sometimes I don't think she understands quite how much she revealed to me – still does, really – through just her smile.

"The smile meant it was working." I look down at her and she seems sleepy but she gazes back, seeing something there that makes her smile. I point. "That smile. It was that smile. When we first met in that radio station, you didn't do anything but just look generally pissed off. But you intrigued me, so I pestered and I pushed. And slowly, you started smiling."

Beca presses her lips against mine for just a moment. "I almost always smile."

"Now." I nod. "But not always. I had to work really hard to get you to show a smile, you know."

Her eyes glaze over and she grins again, laughing. "Like the records thing."

I chuckle, a little proud of myself that she still remembers that. "Exactly like that."

She settles her cheek back against my shoulder. "Dork," she mutters, and I squeeze our joined hands. She looks surprised, and I know it's because she hadn't realised we were linked in the first place. I roll my eyes, a habit I've picked up from her, and then settle myself further, the cold hard floor uncomfortable beneath me. I worry about whether she's okay sitting here with me.

"Number three.  _How completely convinced she is that she's a badass._ "

I laugh and see her glare at me, punching me lightly in the shoulder. "I am totally a badass."

I scoff. "Hardly. You're the biggest softie I know."

She gasps and pulls away from me, her mouth open in shock. "That's so not true!"

"Beca, I'm sorry that I'm ruining your perfect mental image of yourself, but just because you try to be a badass does not make you a badass."

She frowns and shakes her head. "We need to stop saying badass, it's giving me a headache."

I chuckle and pull her back to my side. "Beca, rather than just apologise like anyone else would do after I shut that door on you" – she shifts uncomfortably and I know it's because she still finds the memory painful – "you instead serenaded me at the finals of an acapella competition in front of your dad." She forces back the smile that threatens to escape. "When I had to be in New York on our anniversary three years ago, you sent me that giant teddy bear so I could pretend it was you when I slept!" I point to the giant grey bear sitting by the loft hatch, a giant red heart stitched to its paws.

She rolls her eyes. "I bought you that ironically."

I look at her pointedly. "No you didn't."

She presses her lips together to stop her smile and after a moment's silence she groans and hides her face in my shoulder. "Okay fine! I'm a giant softie! Congratulations of foiling my identity!"

I pull her tight against me and press a kiss into her hair. "You didn't hide your true self very well if I picked up on it as early as this list was written."

She keeps quiet, moving herself awkwardly until she is sitting between my legs, her back against my chest. She takes the list from me and I wrap my arms around her shoulders and chest, leaning my chin on top of her head. She straightens the slightly crumpled paper out and then looks for the next pro on the list.

"Number four.  _Her facial expressions._ " She scrunches her nose and twists to look at me. "This one makes no sense. It's the most confusing out of the lot."

"It's my favourite." I smile and lean down to kiss her softly. She smiles back against my lips and we both keep our eyes open, her face so close to mine it's blurry.

I don't know how to tell her about this one. It's strange, really, because it's not something I think she's fully aware of. I just can't help it. Her funny little expressions, especially back then, drew me to her like a moth to a flame. Like her nod and 'you're-a-crazy-person' smile when I sang to her from my car. Or her lip bite when she finished No Diggity at the Riff Off. Or how she widens her eyes and grins when I do something silly, like with the records. It doesn't even need to be an obvious thing. Sometimes it can be as simple as the way she closes her eyes for a few seconds when she makes a joke, like when she asked if we could do anything but watch a movie, or her grin when I heard her music for the first time.

Even after I wrote this list, it was still something about her that I really loved. I could list a hundred thousand examples of all the times her face has made my heart skip a beat, how it morphs so strangely and beautifully into the perfect reflection of her mood or her feelings. Even now, as she looks at me with that tiny little furrow between her eyebrows, I feel the same thrill at it as I did all those years ago when I told her we were going to be best friends and lovers and she looked at me like I was insane.

I feel a surge of victory at how perfectly I had predicted my own future, our own future, within ten minutes of meeting her.

But I don't know how to explain all of this to her, so instead, I whisper, "I love you."

She kisses me again quickly and then pulls back, tilting her head in confusion. "You're not going to explain it are you."

I shake my head and grin. "You'll stop doing it if I tell you."

She gives me the same wide eyed smile that she let slip in the station twelve years ago and I can't help but let my grin grow wider. She raises an eyebrow but lets me have this one, carrying on with the list.

"Number five.  _Her dedication to music._ " She doesn't look back up at me but she leans further into my chest as I stroke her shoulder with one hand. "I know this one already."

I nod into her neck and press a sweet kiss against her pulse point. "'Your omnipresent love for music is something that makes me love you more and more every day, and your ability to twist it and turn it into something so beautiful and so reflective of who you are is-'"

"'Something that I will always greatly admire about you and makes me only a little jealous that your first love isn't me, but music,'" she finishes, and I feel the vibration of her laugh through her back. "Yes, I remember your wedding speech."

I hold her that much tighter at how she has my words so perfectly engraved in her memory despite it being seven years since that day. "And now I have to settle for third best."

She leans her head back on my shoulder so she can see me, her smile as bright as the sun. "Music used to be my entire life, but now you are. Despite how impossible it seems, I will always love you more than music."

As I kiss her gently, she takes my hand from her shoulder and places it on her swollen belly, letting me feel the kicks from under her skin. "I'll never get tired of that," I murmur against her lips.

"Well considering this baby is my first love, you should be insanely jealous," she breathes. Our baby kicks in agreement and I chuckle, watching her eyes sparkle at the thought of what was growing safely inside her.

"Actually," I say disapprovingly, pulling back to frown at her. "Why are you up here? You're six months along Beca, you could have really hurt yourself or the baby."

Beca rolls her eyes at my protectiveness. "I'm pregnant not paralysed."

"You could have waited until I got home, I'd have gotten whatever it was you needed. The doctor told you specifically that you needed bed rest. What if you'd had another dizzy spell?"

She shrugs and threads her fingers through mine that rest on her stomach. "I was looking for the paint rollers."

"We agreed to paint the nursery together!"

"I was bored," she whines, pouting like a child. "The label hasn't sent over my next project yet and I just thought that I could at least make a start, try and surprise you."

I felt my frustration ebb away but I upheld my disapproving tone of voice. "How long have you been up here anyway?"

She shrugs again. "I don't know. What time is it?"

"6 ish I think."

"About 3 hours," she says like it's no big deal. I huff in annoyance.

"And how long have you needed to pee for?"

Her face morphs into a pained expression and she grimaces. "About half an hour."

Without another word, I slowly pull us both to our feet, noticing out of the corner of my eye as I lead us back to the hatch that she folds the list and puts it in her pocket. I grab the paint rollers from one of the few unopened boxes, ignoring her grumble at how easily I had found them, and grab her hand in mine. Carefully, I help her descend the ladder, dusting her down once we safely reach the ground. She rubs her fingers into her lower back, groaning at her discomfort.

I make her tea as she uses the bathroom, a constant smile on my face at the hour's nostalgia. I had thought it would be a bad idea, looking back on the difficult beginnings of us, but it was actually nice. No matter how confusing a time it had been for us, it was still our beginning, and without it, we would never be what we are today.

"No matter how much I love this baby," she grumbles as she pads into the kitchen, "I am never doing this again. One is enough, you got your wish, but that's all you're getting."

I hand her the mug which she accepts graciously, sitting heavily in one of the breakfast stools, and I shake my head at her. "Nope. My wish is for a hundred mini-Beca's, not just one."

She looks at my pointedly over the rim of the cup. "If you want to carry all of those little wishes yourself for nine months at a time, be my guest. But my womb is off limits to you."

I lean on the counter and kiss her cheek. "Just you wait. I've been correctly predicting our future since the day we met, and my newest prediction is that this isn't the only time you get to look adorable while resting your cereal bowl on your stomach every morning."

She waves me away, hiding her smile in her tea, and I turn to start dinner, grabbing various pans and ingredients from the cupboards. She watches me, as she always does, with the jealous eyes of someone who to this day has never learnt how to cook without starting a fire.

"So where's the con list?"

I turn in surprise and look into her guarded eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Where's the con list? This is a pro list." She pulls it out of her pocket and drops it on the counter. "That means there must be a con list."

I stand perfectly still, hesitating. This could go one of two ways, and with Beca's whirlwind of hormone-fuelled emotions that she's been scaring me with recently, I have a bad feeling it will not go perfectly.

"There isn't one," I try weakly, which Beca just raises a doubtful eyebrow at. "Okay well it doesn't exist today. I burnt it."

"Why?" She rubs her belly absently, her mug forgotten beside her.

"Because I…" I falter, turning back to the food on the counter so my back is to her. "I couldn't write one."

There's a beat of silence before she laughs in disbelief. "What?"

I spin to face her and look at her in determination. "I couldn't write one."

The smile drops off her face as she realises I'm serious. "But… But Jesse when you wrote this…"

"I know."

"I was horrible to you."

"I know."

"You're telling me you came up with this list when you were mad at me, but couldn't find a single bad thing to say about me?"

"I wasn't mad at you."

She looks surprised. "Yes you were."

I raise my hands in a surrender like fashion. "You had every right to be angry at me that night. I was more mad at myself because I knew things with your dad weren't great back then."

She lowers herself from her stool, walking towards me without ever looking away from me. Her eyes are full of wonder, shining with something close to admiration, and when she's close enough, she slides a hand up my chest and around my neck, pulling me to her until our lips meet. She kisses me hard, pushing herself against me the best she can, her fingers in my hair. The counter presses into my lower back and I cup her jaw in one hand, the other trailing down her back to massage her sore muscles there. She moans at the pressure of my fingers, and I feel the muscles underneath my fingertips begin to relax.

"I love you," she says, breathless, as she pushes herself back into my hand, letting me soothe the muscles our baby is putting pressure on. It's become a daily occurrence for me to do this, to help soothe her discomfort, and every time her eyes roll back at my touch, it lets me see just how beautiful she is.

She's looking at me, her eyes full of lust and love, and she licks her lips in anticipation. I raise my eyebrows at her suggestively and she bites down on her lower lip as her eyes run over my face. I reach behind me to turn off the stove and her fingers dance down from my neck, opening my shirt buttons easily as she works her way down.

"Beca…" But my words are lost as she presses a kiss against my clavicle. She pulls on my fingers lightly and walks backwards towards the stairs, her eyes boring into me so intensely I swear my heart skips a beat. I sweep her up into my arms, laughing at her squeal of surprise as I rush up the stairs towards our bedroom, her mouth on mine as I kick open the door. Laying her down gently on the mattress, I run my hands down her arms, kissing across her jaw and whispering into her ear with hot breath, quote the final line on the forgotten list downstairs.

"Number six.  _How she so easily takes my breath away_."


	2. The New List

"Honey, I'm home!"

I close the door behind me, a giant smile on my face. Today has been a great day, and I have been waiting all day to come home and see Beca, to tell her all about it, to see her smile and hear her joke and to just have her there, in my arms. It's late, later than I'm normally home on a Friday, and I know that it messes up our plans. I hope she isn't angry at me, but as the silence throughout the house continues, I wonder if maybe she is.

It is then, after I've dumped my jacket and my bag, that I spot it. A small square of paper stuck to the bannister of the stairs, holding what is undoubtedly my wife's messy handwriting. I walk towards it, wondering what she has in mind. We have the evening to ourselves, our daughter staying the night with my mother, and I can't help the thrill of excitement that runs through me. We haven't had a night to ourselves since Mollie was born two years ago, and we'd been looking forward to it for weeks.

I grab the sheet of paper, reading the words eagerly.

_I'm no good with the feelings thing. You've always known that. So instead, I want you to follow the trail. Read my notes. And do not skip ahead! Whatever you do, stick to the red string._

I find the string quickly, a thing woollen strand that leads through to the kitchen. I pocket the note, my curiosity unable to resist this strange adventure she has assigned me. Following the string, I easily find my next note, stuck to the fridge with her favourite magnet; a large black treble clef. I pull the note free, reading quickly.

_Two years ago, I found your stupid list of reasons why you shouldn't give up on me. Well, it's now time for me to get you back. Open the fridge._

I frown, not quite sure whether I like where this could be going, but I open the door anyway and right in front of me is a bottle of water, with ' _For later'_ scrawled over the label in thick black pen. I grab the bottle and, finding no other note, follow the red string that leads through to the dining room. On top of the table is a large sheet of paper, and I sit down in the pulled out chair to read it, eagerly taking in all of her words.

_I'm sure you're loving this aren't you? You probably think it's a sweet, incredible romantic gesture. Well, unfortunately, it kinda is. I hate myself for it, but that's essentially what I'm doing here and there's no denying it. But it's important so I'll just have to learn to live with the ribbing you're sure to give me for it._

_My list is very different to yours. I have the advantage of having known you for nearly fourteen years, whereas you had only known me a handful of months when you wrote yours. We're different people to what we were then, but that's okay, because we love each other anyway. We've grown together and so my list will be very different, will be more personal. Try not to let this outpouring of emotion kill you; I know it's not normal for me but hey, I'm a mother now. Blame yourself for what I've turned into._

I grin even though I'm alone in the room, because I always get so excited at the thought of Beca being a mom. Not just that, but she's a mom to our daughter. Despite her insistence for ten years she'd make a terrible parent, here she is, the most incredible mom in the world to our little girl. Every time I see her with Mollie, whether it be feeding her or tickling her or watching her sleep in her crib, I find myself falling impossibly more in love with her. She dotes on Mollie more than I ever thought possible, and I know that she loves being a parent. It's the best thing in the world to her.

I pocket this letter too, getting up from the chair and following the string that trails along the floor, water bottle in hand. It trails through to the living room, and I wander through, chuckling as I spot where she obviously wants me to look.

Our living room is reasonably large, with two oversized black leather sofas facing towards the giant TV I insisted on when we were both making enough money to be comfortable with splurging on something big. My case had been that it meant I could watch my movies in a whole new way, and that she could hook up her music so that it would play through the surround sound. After a month of pleading she had given in, and now it sits proudly on the wall, surrounded by my favourite bit of the entire house.

The entire wall is a giant shelving system for my movie collection, all stacked perfectly in alphabetical order, containing what must be thousands of movies that I have collected over the years. Beca has given up pretending to hate it, as it's the only place big enough to store them all, and on many an occasion, I have stumbled in on her running her fingers across the titles, trying to find a certain movie or see if I have something someone mentioned to her at work that day.

But there is one out of place. I don't even need to be close to know which one it is.

 _The Breakfast Club_  sticks out from its place in the shelves, and I ignore the small part of me that finds any part of the collection being out of place distressing. I reach up, grabbing the case and inside the case, I find my next note.

_Number one: How after fourteen years, you still haven't given up on my stupid movication._

_Despite every excuse I've given, every complaint I've made, every time I've fallen asleep when I give in and let you put the damn movie on, you still carry on. And really, my opinion of movies has only slightly changed. I find most boring, but a few I can get on with if I'm in the right mood. But that's the thing, see. Because I still let you persuade me to put them on. I hate the movies, but I love you. Even if you are already poisoning our daughter's mind with all the cheesy movies you insist you buy for her. I'm on to you, Swanson. I know you don't get them just for her._

I laugh loudly, partly because it's true, and partly because I love that this is a reason. She does, as she pointed out in her note, fall asleep during most of them, but I don't mind so much anymore. It's nice to have that time, lying on the couch with her warmth beside me, using my arm as a pillow as she breathes evenly. Recently, since Mollie, I have caught myself drifting off a few times too, as for a tiny child she has a hell of a set of lungs, especially at night. Now she's older, she sleeps easily through the night, but it's still like we're catching up on the lost sleep from two years ago. And it's so hard to fight when you're lying on the sofa with the love of your life snug beside you, a great soundtrack playing you out as you slowly succumb to sleep.

Beca doesn't know that I have ever drifted off during a movie. There are some things a wife just does not need to know.

I put the movie carefully back in its place, a smile carved onto my face at this whole… Thing she's doing. It's sweet, and not at all Beca but somehow completely her. She isn't one for stuff like this, but there's something so endearing about it, the way she so wants to tell me these things but can't manage it like others might. So instead, she makes it an adventure, because she wants me to know enough to put the effort in.

God, do I love this woman.

I follow the red string once more, letting it lead me back into the hallway. I can't help but wish Beca was here, reading them with me, so I could hold her and tell her how much I love her for this whole thing. I wonder where she is, hiding somewhere in the house. I can hear something, a distant humming, but it's too far away for me to make sense of. Other than that, our home is silent, and I hope she's okay, wherever she is. I hope at the end of this trail, I find her.

I climb the stairs and at the bend in the flight, I spot my next note. It's folded over so it stands up like a card, and I pick it up, scanning the page quickly. I'm so desperate to find her now.

_Number two: How you've been there at my side through everything. No matter how hard I pushed._

_Your persistence with me knows no bounds, and I really have no idea how you deal with it. You have been with me through everything, and I won't list them all but I'll give a few examples, to prove my point. You encouraged me through the struggle to find work when we moved to LA after we graduated. You never gave up when I turned your proposals down twice. You sat through every freak out at Barden over whether my sets would be good enough, at the same time as breaking through and making me see you weren't going anywhere. As a side note, I am so thankful you never gave up on me. If you hadn't been so annoying persistent those first three years, we'd never be all we are now._

_You've been there every step of the way, and it amazes me._

"I see what you did there," I call out to the quiet house, knowing she'll hear me wherever she is. "The steps thing, that was clever. Well done."

I listen for a beat to see if I can hear her move or laugh or anything, but there's nothing and I continue on my quest, reaching the landing to find a criss-crossing of string coming out of different rooms. I smirk and do as I'm told, not daring to skip ahead. I follow it round into the bathroom, and I'm perplexed as to what she could possibly be put in here.

Our bathroom has changed a lot since having Mollie. What used to be a clean, sophisticated room full of gleaming white tiles and a beautiful stand alone bathtub next to a giant power shower is now full of colour and mess, much like the rest of the house. It's more obvious in the bathroom though. There are countless bath time toys lined up against the wall, and we had a shelf put in just for Mollie's strangely large collection of rubber ducks. For Christmas a few months ago, Chloe had decided it would be really good to buy Mollie her own set of crayons that are designed especially to draw on the bathroom tiles, which our daughter loves to use at Chloe's house, and now has great delight in using to draw messily across every surface. The grout between the files is stained with a rainbow of colour, and Mollie's most recent creations are still along the walls. I have no idea what she had actually been attempting to draw – she's two, so it's mostly just a load of random lines she made whenever she was able to successfully grip the crayon – but both Beca and I are always reluctant to remove them. They're beautiful in their own strange way.

On the mirror above the sink is my next message, and I pull it off in excitement.

_Number three: Your eyes._

_Yeah, a weird one. But I love your eyes, and I love even more that Mollie inherited them from you. I know you grumbled about it when they started to darken when she was a baby, but I was thrilled. Your eyes are my favourite part of you, because they're so expressive. I always know how you feel just by looking into them. I love how they darken when you're watching me, I love how they sparkle when Mollie laughs. They first caught my attention back on the day you sang to me from your car, when they were so open and excited, and since then… Well, I think I'm a little hooked._

_My God I really am never going to hear the end of this, am I?_

"I'm going to hold this over you for the rest of our lives!" I shout to her, wherever she is, my voice full of amusement.

I pocket this note, catching my reflection in the mirror. I'm grinning, and it brings out the laughter lines around my eyes. I'm getting older, and I'm oddly okay with it. Behind me, in my reflection, I can see Mollie's drawings, and it makes me miss her. I wish she was here so I could see her smile – the perfect replica of Beca's already – or so I could hear her shriek in excitement as I played aeroplanes with her. I want to see her lounging on the sofa with Beca, sleeping peacefully on her lap, Beca's fingers running lazily through her hair as she watched one of her documentaries.

I huff in frustration, because I hate being home without my wife or my daughter nearby. It's not home without them.

I walk quickly along the red string, determined to get this over with so I get at least one half of my family in my arms quickly, and I fight the urge to skip the end as I go through the first past of the criss-crossing string. I curl my hands into fists, defying myself so I carry on, walking into our bedroom.

There's another tiny note on the tissue box, telling me to take a few for later, and I wonder why I could possibly need a water bottle and tissues. I shrug it off, climbing onto our king size bed to read the next stage in her game that lies on my pillow. The bed is still unmade, because we never bother to straighten it out, and I push the duvet out of the way so I can sit comfortably.

_Number four: Our late night chats._

_I will never forget our first talk under the cover of darkness. A week after the first ICCA's, after days spent releasing all the pent up tension and never really discussing anything, you held me in your arms and I could feel your heartbeat against my back. You were doing that thing with your fingers on my ribs that you know I love, even back then you knew, and we were in perfect darkness. I told you how scared I was of how I felt about you, and you told me not to be afraid of something that was so right._

_The way you know - without me having to say anything – that I need to talk to you, need to air something out that's been playing on my mind… It's incredible. You so easily fit yourself behind me, knowing it's easier to talk when I can't see you, and you stroke my ribs because you know it calms me down. You just listen to me and let me say whatever I need to say, and then you kiss my shoulder and you tell me your thoughts on it all, and we just talk, for however long we want or need. It means everything to me; how you just get it, get me. You accept me despite knowing I'm a little screwed up, and you show me a better way to view life._

_You make me better._

_How's that for romantic?_

I laugh because I don't know how to else to react. Because this whole thing is adorable and incredible but I can't help missing her. I want her here, with me, but instead I'm reading her little letters alone, knowing she's so close but that I have to stick to this. I think of what she's told me, about how she loves our midnight talks, and I smile. I love them too, when she bares herself to me under the cover of darkness, when I get to just hold her and listen to her reveal her soul and speak her mind. I comfort myself in knowing that tonight, I will be able to keep her close and tell her all about how her game has made me feel, about how much I love her for it, about how I miss her, right now, in this moment.

I realise there is another note, lying on her pillow and blending into the soft white cotton. I snatch it up, continuing to read. I am happy to see it is the next part of the list, as it means I am that much closer to finding her.

_Number five: How you worked so hard to make LA and this house our home._

_Do you remember, the first night we spent in this house? We had all those unpacked boxes stacked up in the living room, and the electricity didn't work so it was dark and cold. You lit every candle you could find, right here in this room where our old smelly mattress was, and I dug out every blanket I could find, and we curled up together, huddled like penguins. I saw, that night, how determined you were for us to be happy. You bought us this house because despite all of its flaws and its issues, you could see us here, could see us having a family here. We were newlyweds, throwing every penny we had at a dream of the perfect home that no one else could fathom._

_You worked so hard on this house. We bought it back to life, together, and it's such a great accomplishment. We did what even said we couldn't - again, really, considering how so many believed our relationship would crumble after Barden – and I love coming home from work to this place, to see what you did for us. I love that Mollie is growing up here, and that's she's happy and even though she ruined our bathroom and that rug we used to have the hallway, she completes it. She makes our home perfect, and you are solely to blame for that perfection._

_Maybe, in that case, I should amend my number five. Maybe instead it should be this:_

_Number five: How you are my home._

I press my lips together to stop the tears that spring in my eyes. If I had wanted her close before, I need her now. I want to kiss her forever, want to tell her how she is my home, and that the perfection she talks about is not my fault; it is ours. We both worked hard on this house, and she is the one who grew Mollie, who gave her life and gave her to us, our little miracle.

I clamber off the bed, running through the hallway as the string instructs, into Mollie's room. It's so beautiful in there, so bright and youthful. The walls are still the soft mint green we painted them the day after the attic, but there's lots more things in there now. The crib is gone and instead there's a small bed, and a bright blue wardrobe sits in one corner. There are countless toys and games littered around, a large rug in the design of letter blocks hidden underneath it all, and resting precariously on top of the mobile that hangs from the ceiling, Mollie's since she was born, is the next letter.

I admire the mobile, smiling as I gently finger the music note that hangs from it. It had been a present from Benji when Beca announced she was pregnant, and each little figure that hung from it was made uniquely for us. There was also a coin like wooden circle, engraved with TBC for our movie. There was another wooden circle painted to look like a CD, and one shaped to be a taxi. It was full of all different things that represented mine and Beca's journey towards our baby, and we couldn't bear to take it down. It was the most perfect present we'd ever been given.

I opened up the letter, smiling already at the first line.

_Don't worry, you're so close to the end. I know you're dying to know why I'm doing this, so you have just one more letter and two more little notes. You can do this, Jesse. You can make it to the end – just maybe hurry it up a bit okay?_

_Number six: How incredible a dad you are to Mollie._

_I've always known you'd be a great dad. You have that childlike thing to you, that playfulness that makes you a child magnet (For example, your sister's wedding four years ago and how I barely saw you all night). But somehow, despite knowing this, it's always amazing at how good you are with Mollie. You're just so perfect for her, and there's nothing quite like seeing you were with her, both of you smiling happily. My little family._

_I know how scared you were, when she was born. I know that her birth wasn't easy, and that it was so difficult for you to see me that way. Having Mollie almost killed me and it terrified you – it still does. I see you watching me sometimes, when you think I don't know. I can tell by the stare at me that you're thanking your lucky stars that I got through it. I thank them too, because being with you and Mollie and being a mom and a wife are the best experiences in the world. Come on, did you really think a little blood loss was going to get rid of me that easily?_

I stop reading, giving myself a moment to calm down. She is right, of course she is. I do find myself watching her, when she's playing with Mollie or trying to get her to go to bed. The whole pregnancy had been difficult on Beca, had put her in the hospital on numerous occasions, and she had even worse luck during the labour. Mollie got stuck, and they had had to help the process along quite a bit. Beca had bled a lot, and she had fought until she finally saw Mollie's scrunched up little face, screaming as she found herself in a new world.

And then she'd lost consciousness, and I'd never been more afraid. I was so close to losing her that day, and I had been forced to wait outside, Benji consoling me as Beca's dad paced back and forth. It was the best and worst day of my life, and when the doctor had called me back, I barely looked at Mollie, too worried about Beca, checking her over to make sure she really was still alive.

I spent two days at her bedside, Mollie cradled in my arms, watching Beca gain her strength back. It had been emotionally draining, and we never discussed it in too much detail after we finally returned home with our new baby. It was too traumatic to bring up, how my wife had almost died while she tried to bring life.

To this day, the whole thing still brings me out in the shivers, and my hands tremble slightly around the paper. I steady myself by looking around the room, looking at where our daughter sleeps and plays. The letter in my hand is proof that Beca is still here, and the room proves I have Mollie. Both my girls, still with me. The thought is enough to help me pull myself back together enough to carry on.

_I hope this one doesn't make you too sad. I mean it in the most happy of ways, how I love how great you are with Mollie. I love that you're the father of my little girl, that you get to be everything my father wasn't and that I know, with complete certainty that you'll never leave her. You'll be at Mollie's side for ever, supporting her and sacrificing for her and being everything she needs._

_I love how similar you and Mollie are. She has your laugh and your eyes but she also has your soul. She's kind and excitable and so giving and loving of everyone she meets. I know you said you wanted a mini-Beca, but I'm so happy that she's a mini-Jesse. You're the perfect role model for her, and every time she does something that reminds me of you, I get goosebumps._

I wipe the tear that has fallen and inhale deeply, trying to pull myself together again. How can she make me so emotional without even being here? I pocket the note, adding to the collection I have gained during my adventure, and I take one last look around my daughter's strangely empty room before following the string back out into the hallway. It leads into the music studio, and I smile, because how had I not figured out she'd be here? It was so perfectly obvious that I'd completely missed it.

I walked in and let out a laugh, because sitting there as I opened the door, was the giant teddy bear she bought me all those years ago, my next note pinned to the giant heart in its paws.

"Beca Swanson, I bloody love you!" I call up to her as I see the open hatch, the ladder down and ready for me. I hear the distant laughter and I grin wider, because it's so good to hear her.

"Hurry up would you, I'm cold!" she whines, and I roll my eyes at her even though she can't see me, and grab my next note. I notice the noises I had heard earlier are from her computer, Simple Minds playing softly in the background, and I chuckle. She really is a giant softie.

_So there's your six reasons, returned to you with cheesy explanations and another little trip down memory lane. I hope you're happy with yourself, because I feel far too emotional right now._

_Of course, you didn't have a con list, because you're Mr Perfect and it's just so_ you. _However, I'm not Mrs Perfect, so I have one. Yup, I know you're pulling an over the top shocked face right now, but you should read it first. I think you'll find it very educational._

I step around the bear and head towards where the string finally ends, at the bottom step of the ladder. I'm eager, too eager, to get to her, but I'm intrigued, and I know that she's very aware of my acute curiosity. So I stop, and I look for this con list of hers, spotting it finally taped to the top of the ladder. I climb up quickly, and can't resist peaking up, trying to spot Beca.

But, of course, she has hidden herself, so I pull the letter from the top step and with unsteady fingers, unfold it to see two lines scrawled on the page.

_The Con List_

_Number one: I hate how your stupid predictions about our future always seem to come true._

I frown, confused, not really sure what she's talking about, and climb up into the attic, standing on the spot and spinning, trying to spot her.

But instead I spot it.

The box.

It's relatively small and long, and it makes my breath hitch in my throat because I know the box. I know the writing and the silly picture and the strange fonts and it's just sitting there innocently in our attic. Staring at me.

"Beca?" I ask hesitantly, my voice barely audible. She doesn't reply, but I can hear her shallow breathing, and I walk towards it, my feet just about understanding how to move. A few steps later, I spot the instructions from the box, curling in on itself because of the strong folds, but I don't need to read it. I know exactly what it says.

"What… Are…" I can't string my words together and instead continue to follow the sound of her breathing, listening to it hitch when I speak. She's nervous, and I'm far too shocked to be able to find something to say to calm her down.

There. Lying on top of the box I kept the paint rollers in. The remaining contents from the box, just lying there, evidence of the one thing I should have known from the moment I saw the start of her little game. The only real reason she'd ever do something like this.

Beca's pregnant.

Again.

"Holy shit."

"That's what I said."

I look up in surprise, and she's standing there, my Beca, cowering slightly behind the boxes we still haven't unpacked, watching me anxiously put the pieces together. I open my mouth to say something, trying to find something to say, but I can't make noise, and she grimaces at me, stepping out a little further so I can see her better. She's in a tatty old pair of jogging bottoms, and she's wearing my old faded Treble's hoodie, her hair scraped messily off her face, and  _holy crap she looks so goddamn beautiful right now_.

"You…" I manage, and she nods, inhaling a shaky breath. "We…" She nods, again. "I…"

"Yeah." She stuffs her hands into the pockets of the jumper awkwardly, waiting for me to react.

And I do. I react big. I rush to her, pulling her as close as I can, wrapping my arms around her so she's lifted off the ground a little. Her smell engulfs me and I press my nose against her neck, feeling her grip me back just as tightly. She's smiling, I can feel it against my shoulder, and I choke on my breath a little. I can't believe any of this is happening. I can't believe how supremely lucky I am.

"We're having another baby," she confirms thickly as I feel something wet through my shirt. I place her on her feet, pulling back to see her tearful eyes as she laughs through a sob, her fingers digging into my biceps. I can see it, see how she glows, and I rest my hands above her hip bones, stroking my thumbs across her still flat stomach.

"We're having another baby," I repeat numbly, my brain still trying to process this all. I'm ecstatic and absolutely terrified all at the same time, so scared my hands are trembling again, and I know she can feel it, because she lifts a hand to my cheek, smiling at me through watery eyes.

"You're scared, I get it," she says softly. "But it's okay.  _We're_ okay. Mollie was difficult but look at what we got out of it? I know you're worrying about maybe losing me, but it's not going to happen." Her eyes are determined, clear and calm. "You've always wanted lots of kids, and we're going to have our second in seven months. We're going to be okay, and there's going to be no difficult labour this time. We're going to expand our family and be even more happy that we are now."

I just look at her in awe, because what do you say to that? I see how much she's changed since we met, how open she is with me. And she's different from two years ago, when she grumbled about the pregnancy and how she didn't want any more. Because in fourteen years of knowing each other, and thirteen of those being in the best relationship I think has ever existed, she has grown so much as a person. She's opened herself up, let others see her true beauty. She's fought for her dream and won, and she's let me be at her side through it all. She's let our baby almost kill her, and she's standing in front of me, ready to let it happen again if that's the case.

Because she loves me. And it makes me love her so much more.

And suddenly, I feel my heart swell, growing because it needs to make room for more love for my new baby, the baby that's growing inside my wife, the baby that's going to have my daughter as a sibling, and I feel my own eyes well up as I realise just how incredibly lucky I am.

"We're having another baby," I choke out around my sobs, and she's looking in my eyes, searching them. She finds what she's looking for, because she's grinning like a mad man, and she squeals before throwing herself at me, kissing me happily with her arms wrapped tightly around my neck. I hold her – so happy I can now, finally, have her in my arms after the ordeal of reading the letters without her.

When she pulls back, she's still grinning and I mirror it, my fingers feeling tingly at the excitement of it all. I'm still in shock, but it's a good shock, and I want to run outside and scream loud enough for all to hear that my wife is having my baby.

"I love you," I whisper, brushing my nose against hers. She bites her lip and then leans forward, kissing me softly, lovingly.

"I know." She kisses me a little harder and I smile into it as she raises on her toes to get closer. She then takes the tishappy he asked me to bring and dries off my face as I laugh at her attention to detail, and she dabs at her own, drying our tears of joy. I hand her the water bottle and she takes it happily sipping at it eagerly. When she's done, she puts it on top of a box, leaning up and kissing me again.

"Beca?" I ask against her lips. She just hums in response. "I miss Mollie."

She leans back onto the heels of her feet and looks up at me, a strange mix of emotion in her eyes. After a moment, her lips twist up in a smile. "You wanna go get her from your mom?"

"Yes please," I say hopefully, and Beca grabs my hand eagerly.

"Thank God." She pulls me quickly towards the ladder. "I've been talking myself out of going to get her all evening."

I chuckle as we descend the ladder and, when we are both down, I pull her back to me, kissing her passionately, my fingers slipping down her back and under my stolen hoody. She presses herself against me, moaning softly into the kiss, and she pulls back for a second to catch her breath.

"Jesse?" she says breathlessly. I hum against her jaw, where I'm pressing soft kisses. "Want to have sex first?"

"God yes," I groan as her fingers dance down to my shirt buttons, and she giggles excitedly as I pick her up in my arms and rush towards our bedroom, ready to surround myself in Beca, the girl who still manages to make me feel like I did when I was eighteen and riding the high of just falling in love.

We make love quickly, passionately, both eager to get to our daughter, and less than two hours later we are back in our bed, but this time Mollie lies between us, sleeping soundly as she's surrounded by our body heat. Beca has a hand on her chest, her eyes closed as she lets herself feel her heartbeat, and I'm running my fingers through Beca's hair, watching how she smiles gently. She looks so beautiful in this moment, and I burn the whole scene into my memory, determined to remember it forever.

"You know, you missed a few things off your list," I whisper to her, and she lazily opens one eye to glance at me.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" she whispers back, careful not to wake Mollie.

"Like how I'm still so dashingly handsome after all these years, or that I'm a fantastic lover, or that I'm so manly and strong and –" Her kick to my shin stops me talking and I wiggle my eyebrows at her, her one open eye watching me in amusement.

"Did I mention that the baby's father is actually the postman?" she quips quietly, closing her eyes again as I smirk at her. "We're actually eloping tomorrow."

"I highly doubt that."

Her eyes open again and she scowls. "What, you think I can't get the postman?"

My eyes flash cheekily. "I'm sure you'd be able to get him just fine, but he's about to retire any day now so I think he's a bit old for you."

She closes her eyes again and I see her fight back the smile. "Well that's why I'm still with you. So you can support me and my illegitimate child."

"Oh of course, yeah, I see that. It's not because I'm Mr Perfect or a really great dad or because I make you better."

She kicks me again and we both freeze when Mollie shifts, moving a little closer to me. When we're sure she's still asleep, we continue in our hushed tones.

"You're an asshole," she mutters, and I scratch the top of her head like she's a puppy.

"You love me though."

She smiles as she settles further into her pillow, yawning. "That I do," she breathes, and I lean over Mollie to kiss her gently.

"Oh! I can't believe I forgot!" I whisper excitedly at her. "I was going to tell you when I got home but, you know, got distracted."

She opens her eyes to pay me her full attention, and I grin at her. Her eyes light up as she realises what I'm talking about and raises her hand from Mollie's chest to my cheek. "You got the promotion?"

"All thanks to you." I smile gratefully at her and even in the dim light from the hallway, I can see her blush. "If you hadn't helped me with that last track…"

"I'm so proud of you, Jesse," she whispers, stroking her thumb against my cheekbone.

"I'm so proud of you, Beca," I whisper back, pressing my free hand to her stomach. "You're growing us a new miracle."

"I love you." She shuffles forward just enough to press her forehead against mine, and I move my hand to her side, gently tracing the line of her ribs in the way she loves. She smiles knowingly and she exhales deeply, content.

"I love you too." I press a kiss to the tip of her nose and let my eyes close, happy to have my family here in my arms. I fall asleep, content in that knowledge, Beca's list swirling around my head and making me love her all the more. She really is my perfect other half.


End file.
